


Scruff and Insolence

by Grenegome



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Coitus Interruptus, Kink Meme, M/M, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grenegome/pseuds/Grenegome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kincaid has Harry just where he wants him. For about five minutes. Then they have to deal with an unwelcome visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scruff and Insolence

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Dresden Files Kink Meme.

So, Harry Dresden.

He’s a mouthy bastard, but it’s a fucking delight to fuck him wordless. Takes a while though, to get him to the point where he’s all parted lips and dark eyes and pinked up skin. I know, I know, I make him sound like he’s draped over my bed, heaving his manly bosom through a good old fashioned bodice ripping, but he _is_ surprisingly eager to please for a rough and ready whelp of a wizard. If you’re willing to put the effort in.

Which I am.

I’d sell you some crap about diamonds in the rough if I thought you’d buy it, but everyone’s the same; they can’t see it, damned if I know why. Sure, there’s the baggy clothes, and the scruffed up hair and the shadows under his eyes and the persistent stubble and the touch-me-and-I’ll-bite attitude, and the bruises, and the scars, and the fact he’s always running to or from a fight... but isn’t that all part of the charm? It’s not like it masks even the base physical attractions; the long strong lines of him, the warm eyes, the generous mouth... and the rest of it, well, it’s not something you can hide under scruff and insolence. He’s a fucking beacon. Dresden throws more power away lighting a candle than most wizards could hope to raise in a week of ritual meditation. And he’s only just waking up to the fact that his every action ripples through the supernatural world in ways it shouldn’t.

Whatever.

I make myself sound like a leech to power, but that’s never interested me. It’s more fun to try and devise the trick-shot to take the bastards down, and that’s something Harry Dresden is the unconscious embodiment of. Wind him up, point him in the right direction, and watch the smoke rise in the distance. Not that I’ve ever done that. It’s just an idle thought that crosses my mind sometimes.

I digress. He gets me like that, digressive.

What I was saying, anyway, is that he’s a good fuck, but not an easy one. It takes a bit of effort to charm him out of those threadbare jeans. So I don’t appreciate being interrupted when I succeed. I’d managed to catch him between crises, uninjured, lucid and cheerful. I’d treated with his canine companion and won some alone time in Harry’s apartment while Superfoo marauded the streets. I had Dresden on his back, sprawled on the rugs in front of the fire, and I was about to lick my way down to his balls.

That’s when the door got knocked off its hinges.

“Again?” Dresden muttered, raising his head to stare at Tall, Scaled and Snarling. The demon looked a little singed, probably courtesy of the wizard’s wards. Dresden held out his hand and called down his blasting rod from the mantelpiece, apparently blasé about the prospect of kicking demonic ass in the nude. I wasn’t quite so eager for him to switch modes from fuck to fight, so I pressed a hand to Dresden’s chest before he could sit up. He raised his eyebrows at me as I glared at the demon, mindful of how fucking hard I was inside my unzipped jeans.

“Dresden, if you’d like to lie back and think fondly of me, it would be my fucking _pleasure_ to take Godzilla here to pieces.”

“Hmm,” he said, hefting the rod as the demon growled and staggered towards us. “Can you do it quietly? I usually upset the neighbors.”

“I can do it however you like, sweetheart. Head on a plate, if you want old school.”

Dresden thumped me on the shoulder for the endearment. “Go on then, Fido. Shout if you need help.”

 

I didn’t. I took it outside and went for a bit of quiet dismemberment in the parking lot. Quick and clean, because I didn’t think Dresden would want to touch me if I was covered in gunk, and I wasn’t subjecting myself to the chamber of masochism he calls a shower. When I got back inside, he’d thrown a blanket around himself roman style, made a cup of coffee, and seemed to be mourning the loss of his door.

I crossed over to the phone and called a guy. “Charlie? Yeah. I finally found a DIY flavored favor to cash in. ...Fuck off, we didn’t specify a reasonable hour. Get over here.” Dresden eyebrowed me as I hung up. “Relax. It’s nearly stale as favours go,” I told him. “More like buying you a cup of coffee than a diamond ring.”

Thirty minutes later, Dresden had a new door, a little smile he was trying to keep off his face, and no blanket. I had the worst case of blueballs in history, and a playful wizard all over my lap.

“I already have a guard dog, you know,” he said, wiggling happily, straddling my thighs. I leaned back into the sofa, letting Dresden get comfy.

“A fucking Foo dog, yeah. An American fire mage punk with a celestial guardian. Why not?”

“I can tell when you’re turned on,” he grinned. “Your vocabulary’s filthy.”

“You can tell from my fucking hard-on.”

He wrapped a hand around my cock and tutted. “Guess what, Kincaid? It’s not big, and it’s not clever.” I looked down and admired the view; Dresden’s drawn on a ridiculous scale, fucking miles of fingers, clever grip, attentive. Yeah. Gives a good handjob, basically.

“Maybe not the brightest. But I’ll argue size.”

Dresden laughed, low and careless. “What do you want then, noble champion? If you’re done monster slaying with your-- Mighty. Sword.” He punctuated the last two words with slow strokes of his hand, and a growing smile.

“Quite like to _fuck_ \- - fuck you,” I said, dropping my head back, thrusting into his grip.

“Here? Or we could spice things up a little, actually make it to a bed for a change.”

I snorted. “Take our time? Be sweet and gentle?”

He leaned forward, murmured in my ear, “You might like it.” It’s all the Coke he drinks, I swear. Dresden has sugar in his veins instead of blood, only explanation for how saccharine he can turn at times, between all the bristling snarls. But still.

“Might. With you,” I admitted, and he kissed me for the concession.


End file.
